CHAPTER 6

 

TARA

 

My heels clop in rapid staccato as I race down the long tunnel-thing we followed to get here, and I’m trying—without any real success—to process what I just experienced.

My first ever alien fight, for one.

And second… I actually used the word ‘cute’ to apply to an alien.

In contrast to the weird one in the suit, the Mutant looks even more human—yes, sure, simply for standing in as comparison material.  Torso-up, at least.  For the most part.  But all on his own, if I’d never seen another alien, I suppose I would still have applied the word ‘cute’ without any prompting.

The alarming part?  I wasn’t thinking it in a puppy-dog sort of way.

I meant it in a cute guy sort of way.

And that.  Freaks.  Me.  Out.  It’s only been two years and some change, but clearly, raising toddlers who squelch any real social life has its drawbacks.  Moms can start thinking that even aliens look hot.

When he’d set me down back there and started talking to the other alien, I’d had a chance to look all of him over.  My glasses are still smudged, but I’m not blind.

Unlike the other one, the Mutant only wears pants and a shirt, no scary spacesuit.  No creepy helmet.  And when he’d set me down and I could see all of his body, I couldn’t help—and didn’t stop—my eyes from scanning over him.

He doesn’t actually look like a kangaroo; it’s just that his skeleton must be very similar to one, because it’s uncanny how he moves… well, just like one.

But look like one?  Not really.  Up top, he’s too ‘human’ for that.  His skin looks human enough.  But there’s still…

If you snapped a photo of him, and if his bottom half actually looked human, there’d still be something… something impalpable, just enough that it would cause a person to pause if you were to show them a quick glimpse of his picture.

A close up though would tell all.

Those eyebrows, for one thing.  Chinese dragons are depicted with a sort of fleshy series of Koi fish-like whiskers on their faces.

This alien has them over his eyes.  Multi-fish-whiskers.

For his eyebrows.

Dude.

That’s weird.

And he prettied them up too, the way some people put beads in their braids.  He stuck beads on some of his brow-fishie-whiskers.  Brishkers?

Honestly, the brishkers should be too much.  That should be too weird.

But it… it’s not.  I guess it’s baby potatoes when you realize it’s not the weirdest thing on him.  Besides whatever’s going on with those, he also has these very pointed little non-human, seal-like ears.  The first time I was able to see him clearly, when he showed me that he’d been thoughtful enough to save my eyeglasses, I’d noticed that not only does he have seal-ears: he has two of them.  Two of them on each side of his head.  So…  NOT like a seal.

And it was when I was staring at them back there—because he can move all of them—that I had the crazy, crazy thought that his ears were almost kind of cute.

I was just having trouble with the amount of them and wondering why four ears should bother me more than two, because I never would have considered myself ear-ist before today—when my eyes caught a flicker of movement.  My gaze shifted from staring at quadruple seal ears to meeting the eyes behind the unsettling blend of Jules Verne-esque nautical diving helmet meets Cold War Era space suit.

It was unnerving, the way this other alien was watching me look over the Mutant.  I faced forward right away but I felt like I’d been caught doing something.

That’s when the suited alien addressed me, then waited liked he expected me to answer him.

That’s when the Mutant looked down and gave me a small, reassuring flash of curved lips.

And that’s when I had the thought.

He’s cute.

...What in the fudgesticks was that?

Cute?

The other one socked him.

After that, I reeled back and stayed out of their way as the hit set off a thudding, bone-jarring fight with strange, strange alien vocalizations and crashes.  The noises were pretty terrible to hear, but they seemed to be taking each other’s blows without real damage.

That was nice.  How… really... nice for them.

But I have two little girls who need me, and I need them, plus I didn’t want to end up dead because one of those guys landed on me while they were squabbling.

The Mutant had been kind enough to me, but whatever’s going on back there is his problem, not mine, and I have no intention of getting damaged trying to help—which I’m convinced I can’t do anyway.

So I left them to it and—heart thundering—I squeaked along the wall, expecting them to catch on, to see me, and grab me.  When they only continued arguing with each other, I quietly slipped away.

My not-so-sensible-for-escape footwear are killing my feet a little and I’m a bit worried—who knows how long I’ll have to be strapped in these mini devices of sole-torture.  I’m also a little disappointed: in all the shows and movies, women can do a little running in heels, no problem.

A little.

Fiction versus reality is a stark slap in the face.

I should have bought Keds.  This is why Keds are making a comeback.  Not because of alien abductions—I don’t think… but after today, who knows!—but they are kind of comfy, and though they have no arch support, being back in style now, you can almost pull them off even when you’re wearing a dress.  Cute-chic, or something.  Gives you a relaxed, hip look.  Plus best of all: if you are abducted by aliens, you can motherforking run.

And dang, these not-Keds are loud!  The sounds just echo in this tunnel.  I’d yank them off for a more sure-footed getaway but I’m afraid I’ll need the extra layer of foot protection once I make it outside.  Outside?  What will I do when I get out?

I don’t know!  But barefoot on an alien planet surface doesn’t sound like a smart move.  Technically, neither does running wild on an alien planet…

I slow down, my clop-clop-clop turning to taps as I place the majority of my weight on the heels themselves instead of my toes.  Maybe I should go back; wait out the skirmish, and see if the Mutant can help me somehow—

A hair-prickling roar shakes the ship.

The sounds of the conflict cut off immediately behind me—then that peculiar noise the Mutant makes happens right before there’s a dinosaur screeching bang and pop, and another snarl.  Was that like a death-squeal?

Did the Mutant just get killed?  My heart doesn’t trip: it mimes a nuclear explosion and I stop thinking.  I just run.

 

***

 

No, I don’t know what I’m doing.  No, I don’t know how to get home, I just know that somehow, I have to get there.  I can’t stay here!  I have got to get home. I just need to…  I need to…

I fall back against a large slatted box, trying to get my breath back.  The box isn’t metal; it isn’t wood.  It’s alien material of some kind but it doesn’t look like it bites or burns or stings, so I rest up against it and try to think.

This would be a fine plan.  What I don’t account for is the danger of the thing trapped inside the box.

I choke on a screech when a two-pronged tentacle reaches through the slats and clamps onto my face.